


Imaginary Element

by Nyanoka



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Flower Symbolism, M/M, Male My Unit | Kris, Male My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22485562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanoka/pseuds/Nyanoka
Summary: The Outrealms and the kaleidoscope of possibility allows for many meetings—for the rational and for the irrational.  Today, it is a simple chat between a set of two.
Relationships: My Unit | Kris/My Unit | Robin
Kudos: 5





	Imaginary Element

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written three years ago in 2017, but I never posted it since the pairing is rather outlandish and niche. Though it was pretty much just simply prose practice. 
> 
> Though if background is necessary, it's the same time shenanigans that the Awakening kids got except this time, it's someone being drawn forward instead of back (or into a parallel timeline depending on which you prefer). And with ever-convenient amnesia; that's always handed out like candy in these sorts of situations.
> 
> As an aside, if you are following my other fic (Farewell Happy Fields), there is no relation between these two works.

Every growing season, the flowering vegetation would bless Ylisse with an variety and abundance of aromas, that of the blooming lilies, their petals spread out like a delicate, pale wedding dress, or the swaying, seductive hibiscus, colors vibrant like the paints worn by the city’s less savory nightly residents, or even that of the shy larkspurs, blossoms huddled together like a group of adoring sisters, among many others.

Accompanying them were the songs and tributes of a myriad of lively birds, their feathered wings spread like the vibrant stained glass of a chapel’s windows. With their ditties and ballads and arias, they rose and soared and fell about the marketplace, diving for dropped scraps and the food of inattentive bar patrons.

With the birds came the life blood of the city, the people. They bustled around the crowded marketplace, haggling and buying and selling like contentious, frugal vultures. Overfilled carts rolled along the streets, pulled by brawny horses, their legs moving powerfully and steadily like the wheels of a locomotive. Alongside them walked the shrewd merchants, gesturing and bellowing their offers in hopes of enticing interested buyers.

In the center of all this, surrounded by the marketplace, was Ylisse Castle, the towers standing proudly tall, their battlements near-kissing the azure cloudless skies, and the carefully sewn blue banners waving eagerly like an old friend. The well-fortified citadel stood as a beacon of safety and hope for the town’s inhabitants, a reminder of their royal family and the loyalty of their country.

Over the city, fluttered the late blooms of spring, sanctifying Ylisse like a child’s baptism. The vibrant, varied flowers flew, lifting up towards the sun like a flurry of arrows and dipping with tender deadly grace. They graced any stall unfortunate enough to lack a canopy, creating collages of color and earth.

From one of the open windows and into the sparsely decorated room, came the faint scent of apple blossoms, sweet and charming, and with it were the pastel pink and white blossoms themselves, having eloped from their parent trees with the beguiling gusts of spring’s end.

The blossoms fell gently, like the crossing of lovers’ hands, onto the paper strewn mahogany desk that sat directly under the uncovered window. At the desk, a man sat and scribbled on parchment, as he is wont to do on days such as this. He occasionally tapped the tip of his quill against the fine wood, a habit he had picked up from forgotten days.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His rhythm continued in twirling threes, akin to the clicking of heels during a ballroom dance. In-between each rap, there was a brief stillness before the noise continued.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound continued as the man grew increasingly irritated with his work, until he finally stopped and turned in his chair. Now sitting backwards, forearms resting on the cresting rail and legs on either side of the seat, the tactician stared at the room’s other occupant who lay on their shared bed.

His gaze remained on the other man, his partner, as his thoughts, unkind boredom and natural mischievousness mixed, began to quickly organize themselves, forming an unpleasant idea.

He smiled, just a slight upward curve, and tilted his head slightly, a grotesque parody of boyish innocence, and began to speak.

“You know, I could become Grima,” Robin’s voice tinkled like a rusty church bell, “It’d be fun you know? At least for me anyway.”

The wind that blew behind the tactician stirred his ivory tresses, some strands catching on his rosy cheeks. Robin had never been one to leave monstrous, ugly things unsaid. At least when it came to his loved ones.

That was what made him honest.

His partner stirred, shifting his position before settling once more, but made no further action, prompting a small frown from Robin. He hoped Kris would have reacted more strongly, but he never quite did, not in any manner Robin wanted anyway. It was always a calm or even stoically boring response, bland and always what was expected, not anything like the glow of justly bitter anger and beastly wildness that he saw in those rare, concealed moments when the other man truly let go.

He continued anyway in hopes of rousing a response, “You could become my knight, Grima’s knight. It’s not like you or I really care about anyone else here, yeah? We’re only in this for the revelry. There’s no loss to us if they die. As long as we’re together, we’re unstoppable.”

(Robin knew he lied a bit, but in his immaculate experience, blurring the truth was sometimes necessary. Chrom somewhat mattered him, at least when compared to the others, but his partner mattered so much more to him even as he was loathed to admit. Even in a cruel jest, it would hurt if he was rejected.)

Again, there was no reply, only the faint creaking of the bed.

Robin scowled, innocently dark and ghastly angelic, the corners of his mouth stretching downward even more. At that moment, a pale pinkish bloom, similar to one of the many that now covered his red-wooded bureau, fluttered through the open window and landed in his hair, distinctive and taunting like a bride’s wedding veil.

It was no fun if his partner did not react.

Plucking it from his ashen curls, he pondered his next words, mind ablaze like a choir’s ardent hymn.

Thinking, the tactician fiddled with the flower’s five delicate petals, fully open and revealing like the teasing merriment of an ingénue.

It was when another blossom fluttered onto his head that another idea bloomed.

He started, nastiness at its peak because of his companion’s disregard, “Wouldn’t it be fun to kill him? You seemed to be fond of that Marth fellow we met in the Outrealms, very suspicious in fact. Anything I should know about?”

Robin feigned a girlish sigh, “You wouldn’t be cheating on me, would you? What a blemish that would be on your record, oh my loyal knight!”

“What use would your memories be if you can’t even keep your pledge to me? You’d be better off as you are now, dull and faulty.”

He concluded with an exaggerated flourish. Robin never did like being ignored, and his barbs always hit sharpest when he was annoyed.

And now, he waited and he was not disappointed.

His companion turned and lifted his head, glaring at him, ire obvious and Robin noted it. If the mention of Marth bothered him so, it would be useful for future endeavors.

Kris spoke, quiet yet the anger was obvious despite his tone, “I have done nothing with that man. It is foolish to assume I would do anything with an imitation.”

There was a hidden meaning in his words, that much was obvious to the white-haired man. His companion’s reply was curt, but it was better than nothing in Robin’s opinion.

“Oh? Are you quite sure? You seemed to be quite fond of him. If I remember correctly, we obtained his Einherjar card as well.”

Robin’s tone was less spiteful, his need for attention having been somewhat fulfilled with Kris’s answer.

“Quite.”

His tone had an air of finality to it, an ending to the topic.

The tactician merely laughed, a sound akin to the ringing of an afternoon bell, and stood. Walking over to the other man, he tucked the apple blossom into the other man’s hair.

It weighed heavier than any king’s crown.

**Author's Note:**

> I never seem to enjoy M!Robin's canon personality honestly. It's not bad, but I just prefer something else. Though as stated before, this is more prose practice for me (from 2017 anyway). It is a bit nice to come back to this since this is more of my preferred style than my other current fic and its requirements.
> 
> Honestly, I do need to continue on my other ideas (been wanting to do F!Grima/F!Kiran, Demifiend/Lucifer, Dimitri/Eir, and/or M!Byleth/Ashe among a few others; the latter especially if I wanna be hip, cool, and up to date). I am rather niche honestly though most of it doesn't make if off my hard drive.


End file.
